


Editorials

by Volsura



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volsura/pseuds/Volsura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos learns to accept that his love life is going to be relayed thoroughly to anyone in Night Vale who owns a radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Editorials

He supposes he should have seen this coming a mile away. It's certainly no secret that Cecil offers his own personal life, and the thoughts and feelings that come with it, to the listeners of Night Vale Community Radio every night without hesitation. Probably the only reason they're even dating right now is because of how vulnerable and broken Cecil sounded when he thought Carlos had died. How Carlos realized there were real feelings there, not just the superficial affinity a person might feel towards a beautiful painting or statue. How Cecil had been rebuffed and let down so many times over that past year that he wasn't even expecting anything when he came to Carlos in the Arby's parking lot.

It is troubling then, given that he finds patterns for a living, how unprepared Carlos was for the possibility that Cecil would change absolutely nothing now that they were in a relationship.

It starts with the feeling that everyone knows something he doesn't. Old Woman Josie and all of her angels, one by one, congratulate him while he's grocery shopping for no apparent reason. His team of scientists mumble and laugh whenever he leaves the room, and there's always a split second when he turns around that they stop leaning to whisper at each other and snap back into whatever they were supposed to be doing.

Then, he's trying to get a first-hand account from Cactus June of the mysterious second moon that appeared for thirty minutes the previous night when a flicker of recognition passes over her face and she says, “You're the one Cecil's always talking about on the radio!”

Carlos fumbles out, “I-uh. Yeah. That's me.”

She shifts on her cactus perch. “You went to Gino's Italian Dining Experience and Grill and Bar for your first date, right? I've never been. I wish my late husband had taken me there, but we only knew each other for six hours.”

It's all Carlos can do to keep his mouth from falling open as he hears quiet snickers behind him from his team. And everything makes sense.

“Did you talk about our date on the radio?” he asks Cecil over coffee the next day.

“Hmm?” Cecil hums around his cup of macchiato. “Oh! Yeah. But it was just in passing. It was really blink-and-you'll-miss-it. Management hardly even noticed.”

“Okay,” Carlos says, not sure what to think.

“I didn't go into detail about it, if that's what you're wondering. It was all really vague. _Really_ vague.”

“Alright.”

“And it _didn't_ take up at least half of the program.”

Carlos takes a sip to hide his grin. “Are you sure?”

“. . . It definitely didn't take up more than three-fourths of the program.”

“I believe you,” Carlos murmurs as he slips his hand into Cecil's on the table.

*

It's a late evening in the lab when it starts becoming a problem, sunset already passed and the sky outside growing darker. He didn't used to listen to Cecil's show that often—partly because the horrific goings-on distracted him from work, and partly because Cecil's fawning over him distracted him from work. But he's been desensitized to both of those things by now, so he leaves the radio on while he and his scientists crunch numbers and do paperwork.

“Take a second to appreciate this exact moment, and how far removed you are from every moment that came before it,” says Cecil. Carlos smiles soft at how effortlessly thoughtful his boyfriend is.

“And on that note— _Listeners_ ,” Cecil continues in a tone of voice that betrays something subdued and excited. It's a tone that makes Carlos tense, a reflex from knowing what follows is probably going to be shameless gushing about his hair or his eyes or something. “At this exact second, in this moment, I'm well-rested, my eyes bright, my skin clear, my psyche relatively undamaged, and I'm dressed in my staple solid gray jeggings and one of _Carlos's_ red flannel shirts.”

His eyes bug out of his head and fixate at the radio. His upper extremities have gone cold as if his circulatory system is as equally frozen as his brain. He vaguely registers that the sounds of activity around the lab have stopped.

“Oh-ho! Now when did _that_ happen? What sort of circumstances could I have been in last night that would have allowed me the next morning to accidentally grab one of Carlos's shirts in what could only be described as utter blissed-out disorientation? _What_ , listeners.”

One of Carlos's scientists rolls her desk chair out from behind a corner.

“Don't,” Carlos warns, not taking his eyes off the radio.

The scientist scoots back.

*

He calls Cecil during the weather.

“Hello~o.”

“We need to talk,” says Carlos, rubbing the corner of an eye with his thumb. “We need to talk about our privacy, and what things should stay off the radio.”

“Okay,” says Cecil, and Carlos can already tell he's not getting it. “What things should stay off the radio?”

“How about we start with the more intimate details of our relationship?” There's no immediate response, so he follows it up with, “Night Vale doesn't need to know everything about what we talk about or what we do behind closed doors.”

More silence, until Cecil's voice comes back meek. “Is this about tonight's show? Because I was being subtle about that.”

“Cecil—”

“And I do care about privacy. I just. . . I just want everyone to know how happy I am.”

And Carlos wants to say something else, but he's never heard Cecil so uncertain of himself. So he sighs big and says, “I know you do.”

“You know I love you,” Cecil says then, quiet and reverent.

Carlos can't fight his smile. “Yeah. You know I love you back.”

“The weather's almost over. I'll call you when I get off work.”

“I'll be here,” he says, and then the call ends.

The music on the radio fades out, replaced promptly by Cecil's clear voice.

“Listeners, you'll never guess what happened during the break!”

Carlos lets his head fall onto the table.

*

It's several months later and he slams the door to his apartment behind him when he comes in. He makes a beeline for the radio in the kitchen and turns it on, and he doesn't know why. He doesn't know why he's listening to it tonight, he _knows_ what he'll hear. He knows Cecil just can't help but air their dirty laundry to the whole town, and Carlos doesn't understand how someone he loves can be so difficult.

“. . . resulted in at least five gruesome amputations. Said one representative from the Sheriff's Secret Police, 'Well. Is that really SO bad?'” Cecil takes a deep breath, letting the background music fade out, and says, “I have some news of my own that is even more awful and depressing than the previous report. Unfortunately, Carlos doesn't seem to think making time for us is important.”

Carlos rolls his eyes and tries not to throw something. _Of course_ he would blame it all on him.

“We haven't seen each other in two weeks and can hardly even talk on the phone because by the time I get off from work he's already asleep. I pointed this out to him this afternoon, and. . . we had our first big fight.”

Carlos sinks his face into his hands. What was he thinking, falling for someone who bleeds his heart out over public radio?

“He said I don't take his job seriously. Like, _excuse me?_ Am I not the same Cecil who freely broadcasts his questions and warnings of public endangerment when he asks? Anyway, we got into it. For the most part, I kept my snappy comebacks short and usually ended them with some variation of _'UUUUUGH.'_ He said some sciencey stuff that he knew I wouldn't understand.”

The radio goes silent. He hasn't been in a quiet room since he saw Cecil today.

He almost doesn't recognize the resigned voice that finally speaks. “I think he said some things he regrets. I know I did.” Cecil clears his throat. “I just wanted to tell him I missed him.”

Carlos looks up. The rhythmic, feverish blood slows in his ears.

“I don't know how it got so blown out of proportion. And now he won't even talk to me.” His voice cracks. “I guess I'm scared he'll realize I'm not as smart or interesting or any of the things he is and leave.” A stuttering exhale escapes him. “Is this it? Is this what a failing relationship looks like?”

Cecil sniffs weakly into the microphone, makes a few barely-there breathy sounds that are otherwise indistinguishable, but Carlos feels like he can't breathe because those are the sounds of Cecil crying. He's crying on the radio for the first time since Carlos was attacked, and he just told an entire radio audience what Carlos was trying to get out of him all day.

When Cecil's voice comes back, it's dry and professional as if nothing happened.

“With mayoral election season underway, many candidates are now preparing themselves for the big debate. As always, they will be answering questions while completing a fiery obstacle course.”

Carlos leaves the radio on as he takes his evening lab coat off the rack and goes through the front door.

*

This time, when he reaches out to Cecil during the weather, it's in person.

*

Carlos continues doing a lot of thinking, but now he's also doing a lot more listening. He listens to Cecil on the radio explain vividly the upcoming municipal holidays, recite Carlos's physical virtues, trash-talk Desert Bluffs with an underlying and visceral fear beneath it all, grumble Steve Carlsberg's name like it's a curse.

“What's wrong?” Carlos says one day, because Cecil is wrung out and tired in a way that has nothing to do with how much sleep he got last night.

“Nothing,” is the reply, upbeat and curious as usual.

And Carlos doesn't push it. He knows the best way is to turn on the radio that night and hear him carefully from a distance.

If all the licensed psychologists of Night Vale hadn't been detained in the abandoned mineshaft last week, he would ask one of them why the radio seems to be Cecil's best form of self-expression. Maybe Carlos is just so used to dissecting complexities that he overlooks how simple some things are.

It's not normal, but—considering their environment—Carlos thinks they're doing pretty well nonetheless.

He's lying on the couch, eyes closed, and nothing is there but Cecil and the radio. He hasn't slept properly in forty-eight hours, but he doesn't want to miss a second.

“So if you ever feel like your efforts and hard work are futile, just remember that you're going to die someday, and there's an infinitesimal chance anyone will remember you long after you're gone. But even if your journey has brought you full circle and you've ended up just where you started, you're a different person than the person who stood there last. Isn't that progress enough?”

Cecil speaks in that inimitable way that makes anyone listening feel like he's speaking only for them, but tonight Carlos believes it more than ever.

“Goodnight, Night Vale.

“ _Good night.”_


End file.
